I had a cat He ate a rat Then when he shat He found the rat It then transformed into a cat And now i have another cat
Ppl like your wife steal them and then post them on websites. However, some of us have more creative abilities in them and don't have to plagiarize poems and stories. And FYI...I thought of you today has a nice new copywrite. Have a good day.
Into the fray~ This is my own poem, but it's based off of a movie I just watched recently. What silences, all dwell too much, and for what stands. Each moment, each breath, can crush you in demand. The last time I rise, is what I see fallen, and what finds sorrow, is blood on my hands. They crown them worthy, and the only think I see, is my own ripped apart, in their twiddling ecstasy. I will try to be part of them, and I'm terrified. But it's all part of a stem, of the face mortified. Going into the fray, and what I stand, is my own will, and their faces on my hands. Of course, I'm not that depressing, but I get ideas every time something random pops up, so hey.
My wife has never submitted a single poem, I've watched her sit down and write so I know she can write, she has talent.
. Each person has had a poem or story stolen and passed off as someone else's. it's heartbreaking, but it happens. It doesn't bother me. I'm honored someone likes my writing enough to try and pass it off as their own. It's when ppl accuse me of plagiarism that I get upset. My sisters helped me with that poem, to dedicate to Miller. They can vouch for it and for me. I've gotten awards for my short stories and poems, and I've learned not to make them public until the copyright patents have been approved for this very reason. At 17, I did not know that. I posted my poems on websites cause I wanted to share my best work with ppl. I know better now. Please do not insult my intelligence or my morals in such a way. Thank you.
Dark poetry always has a deeper meaning. That's why they're so much more interesting to read than others.
Nothing Vast emptiness of everything Blank walls and colorless features Surrounding everything And nothing Trapped in a wasteland Full of hatred and sorrow Yet happiness and life And nothing The world is gone Yet still here somehow But with chaos and destruction All for nothing Trying to hard to fit in Being pushed aside And walked all over Like you're nothing It's all over now Death is a sweet escape And you do it because There's nothing I wrote this a while back. So it's not the best but I thought it was pretty cool to share.
These are two poems my dad wrote and he did submit then onto a website and they are on display but it's his poem so don't try to say that he copied it! Thank you! Paradise Lost Many years have passed away Since last he saw her face The man she knew, now cold and gray Recalls their last embrace "Was it yesterday? Or so it seems My memories seem so gray We danced in a land of hopes and dreams To pass the time of day More than lovers from the start Our bliss had a dreadful cost A terrible sickness cost my heart And I left her in Paradise lost A life long and cold for my beloved To match her broken heart A love of life and a life of love Was a dream she was not part Now she feels my love around her As she draws her final breath Her love at last, has come for her As from God she did request." A Denied Love Nine months was all God would give And the happiness of their love Twenty-six years was all she lived As allotted by God above Stuffed toys and other cherished tokens Now lie beside her bed His one regret, though still unspoken Was that they never wed "God will see the injustice." They say But what about the broken heart that lay Shattered on the ground, so cold? Nevermore to hold for whom the bell tolls Yet, through it all he knows too well The miracle that awaits him That when his time on Earth expelled She'll once again embrace him So do not weep for him my friends For one thing more is certain I'll envy him for his love so cleansed When he draws that final curtain.
Radio, work and literature, is to me like one great adventure, doesn't come fast, no way easy, yes, what a labour, all it keeps you busy. Radio to listen, while at home? No my son that would be bore. One has to work to listen wireless, who doesn't toil stays FM clueless. And where come literature in this story? Do you ask me? You don't know? You're sorry? Well on break my dear friend, collegue, comarade, When on break the gift of scripture's a merit.